What Would People Say?
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Cartman/Clyde. Instances where there is a chance to do more but the overwhelming sense of social acceptance gets in the way. Everyone is just waiting for Cartman to do the right thing because when you've sunken so low, you can only rise back up.
1. Bus

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _What Would People Say?_

**Complete Story Summary:** Instances where there is a chance to do more but the overwhelming sense of social standards gets in the way. Everyone is just waiting for Cartman to do the right thing because when you've sunken so low, you can only rise back up.

**Story Pairing(s):** Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan.

**Story Rating:** T

**Chapter Content:** Coarse language.

**Introductory Notes:** This will be a very long story focusing on how Cartman would act towards Clyde when presented with the chance. It's just something to improve my renditions of him for future stories and explore some social problems that the two of them might have.

I've skimped down on the language a bit so that I can make this T-rated, but I hope it still has some _South Park_ charm to it. These chapters are just small instances, so they won't be very long. However, there will be a lot of them as Cartman proves himself, especially to Clyde.

Oh, and before I forget, this entire story is in the first-person view of Cartman.

* * *

1. Bus

Sitting by myself near the back of the bus with three people who I call my "friends," I can see almost anything that goes on in here. I can see fights brewing before they actually start, I can see kids passing around notes that will inevitably be taken up by someone other than who it was intended for, I can hear vital bits of conversation that were spoken slightly too loud—but it really doesn't mean anything to someone like me.

I cradle my head in one hand, sighing, and staring out the window at the snowy town I call home. Awkwardly-spoken words and obnoxious laughter pierce my ears, and I try to drown them out.

I am jerked out of my reverie when someone taps on my shoulder. I look up, surprised that anyone would dare touch me, and find Clyde standing there, eyes droopy and voice dull. It is early in the morning, and we are on our way to the school for a full day of uneventful learning, though he never seemed completely alert anyway.

I hardly knew him, but he was always there.

He speaks, but I'm too busy thinking to hear what he said. His eyebrows furrow, and he impatiently repeats himself.

"Can I sit here? There's nowhere else."

This draws the attention of everyone sitting around us. A third grader turns around in his seat to actually stare at me. Everyone seems to hold their breath as they wait for my response—would it be an asshole comment as usual, or will I finally show some kindness for someone in need?

"Ha!" The cruel laugh comes from my throat without my permission. It's too late now. "Why would I want to sit with someone like you?"

He becomes cross with me, rolling his eyes. "Whatever."

"Damn, Cartman, when will you ever stop being a total dick to everyone?" Kyle scoffs from the seat behind me.

"Yeah, that was pretty harsh, dude. You're not even sitting with anyone else. You're going to make Clyde sit on the floor or stand?" Stan adds in, always ready to back his super best friend up or display his good sense of morality.

I know I don't act the best all the time. I know I'm a spoiled kid with a whore for a mother. I know that it seems unlikely that I will ever have a good influence in my life because I am constantly pushing everyone away with my bad attitude and insecurities. There is no hope for me. But that doesn't mean I can't redeem myself in the twisted way that I know how.

"Wait, Clyde!" I speak abruptly when the disgruntled boy turns around to look for someone else to sit with.

He turns to me. "Yeah?" I can see that he's expecting some other comment meant to hurt him.

"Uh…" I look around quickly for something to aid in my intentions. "There's an empty seat across from me," I insist, narrowing my eyes at Kenny, who is lounging in it, reading a dirty magazine and using a music player that he had recently stolen. He can't hear or see anything, as his face is buried in the pornography, and he's moving his foot that is propped up by the knee of his other leg to a beat that only he can hear.

Clyde stares at Kenny for a moment before bluntly telling me, "Kenny's sitting there."

I reach over and grip the orange-jacketed po' boy by the snow boot and rip him out of the seat and onto the floor. "And now he isn't."

Clyde's disbelief is plain on his face. I don't even have to look at Kyle and Stan to know that they are shaking their heads at my behavior. And I can tell by the booted foot connecting with my leg that Kenny doesn't approve of my resolution at all.

"You're an asshole," Clyde tells me. Don't I know it? He takes the seat nonetheless, allowing a pissy Kenny to sit next to him.

It may seem hopeless right now, but I believe there is a chance for me to show that I can be more. With Clyde as my witness, I will change. But not today.

There's always tomorrow to do a good deed. And trust me, I have a huge pile of "tomorrow"s.


	2. Nosebleed

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_What Would People Say?_

**Complete Story Summary:** Instances where there is a chance to do more but the overwhelming sense of social standards gets in the way. Everyone is just waiting for Cartman to do the right thing because when you've sunken so low, you can only rise back up.

**Story Pairings:** Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan.

**Story Rating:** T

**Chapter Content:** Coarse language.

* * *

2. Nosebleed

It was recess time, and the assorted grades filtered onto the playground, taking places at slides, swings, and seesaws before anyone else could. We never bothered with those things, not when Stan always brought a football to school that we could pass around in our own space on the snow-covered ground.

We took our positions, ready to waste away another hour of a mindless game of catch, which was the most fun thing we could've come up with. It sure beat gathering with another group of people and just talking, like the girls favored.

Recently, we've had additions to our group, unlike back in third grade when it was just us usually. In fourth grade, the other guys were more into tossing the only football that came to recess with us through Stan.

We didn't have a set number of people or anything. We didn't keep track of who joined and who left. It was a guy thing. It didn't matter as long as whoever was playing didn't totally suck ass at football.

Today, we were visited by Craig's gang. I could see that Clyde wasn't sour from the bus incident this morning. He had probably reasoned that it was an awesome thing for someone to be helped by Eric Cartman, so he was at peace once again.

"Hey, can we play too?" Craig asked in his nasally voice that made me want to punch him in the face. "There's nothing really to do today, so we figured we'd join you guys over here."

"Oh, sure, Craig," Stan assented before I could get a word in. He and Kyle looked forward to having more people in our group so there was less chance for me to bait them into a verbal spar. With Kenny, it was hard to tell. I think he just doesn't care.

"Oh, great, the asshole squad," I muttered, stretching upwards to reach the football that was just thrown at me by an annoyed Jew boy.

"Like you're one to talk." This time, it was Clyde who interjected instead of letting Craig do all the talking. I'm sure Token would have said something as well. They didn't like me very well. And Tweek… Well, he was just Tweek. I couldn't tell if he hated anyone; he was always too busy worrying about lame underwear-stealing gnomes and stuff.

"Me? An asshole?" I fluttered my eyelashes in innocence. How could an asshole possibly have such a good boy look? Mahm would be proud of her little pumpkin.

"Yeah, you weren't exactly very helpful this morning," Clyde told me. "I asked _you _if I could sit next to you. And even though there was barely any room left on the seat, it would have been better than standing."

"I gave you a spot to sit," I answered. Ungrateful Clyde… Why do I even bother if this is how he repays me? I did him a favor this morning!

Kenny made an angered sound, and I could see Craig and Token giving me dirty looks.

Good old Stan could tell when a fight was going down. We could always count on him to break it up. "Dudes, let's just pass the football. Goddamn."

I juggled the football in my hands. Who should I throw it to? My eyes scanned the group, ignoring the distaste shining on almost everyone's features. When I had made my decision, I wanted to make a show out of my pass.

"Think fast!" I called suddenly, heaving the football as hard as I could at my target. Clyde's cry of pain was my unexpected reward. I was instantly assaulted with shouts of anger.

"Cartman! What the fuck did you do that for?"

"Why did you hit Clyde?"

"What's your problem today?"

I twisted my lips into a deep frown at the sight of blood running down the brown-haired boy's face. I didn't mean to hit Clyde's nose. It was the wind. And he should have caught it!

"Owie!" Clyde sobbed, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. It was a pathetic sight to see, that's for sure. But would they believe that I hadn't meant to do it?

"Guys, it was an accident!" I defended. "I wasn't aiming at his face, but the wind made it go in that direction!"

"I think Cartman should take Clyde to the nurse," Craig declared. "He caused it, so he should be the one to try to fix it."

"N-no," Clyde gulped, shaking his head, "I-I'll go by m-myself."

Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to say or do something that they could call me on. I didn't need this.

"You heard him. He wants to go by himself." I dismissively turned my back on them, taking a few steps away.

"I can't believe you!" Craig shouted at me. He led Clyde by the shoulder into South Park Elementary, leaving me with silent glares from the rest of my companions. I didn't know what their problem was. It wasn't my fault, and he clearly said he wanted to go by himself. Damn crybaby could walk himself anyways. What more could I possibly do for him?


	3. Paint

**Disclaimer: **_South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_What Would People Say?_

**Complete Story Summary: **Instances where there is a chance to do more but the overwhelming sense of social standards gets in the way. Everyone is just waiting for Cartman to do the right thing because when you've sunken so low, you can only rise back up.

**Story Pairings: **Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan.

**Story Rating: **T

**Chapter Content: **Coarse language, slight discrimination and anti-Semitism.

* * *

3. Paint

Our class was forced to make the upcoming assembly posters that would be hung up in the hallways. It wasn't something I could really connect with, so my talents were not going to be wasted on painting crappy-looking letters on a crappy-looking piece of construction paper with crappy-looking paintings. Instead, I devoted my time to something a little more worthwhile. I always was better with leading than following.

"Okay, let's see… That looks like something my cat threw up yesterday," I commented, peering over Kyle's shoulder, "so I think you should sit this one out."

Kyle growled, probably wishing he could throw his paintbrush at me. "It's better than you could do! And you're not even helping! You're just going around and criticizing everyone else's work!"

I sighed. "Kyle, you just don't get it. You guys need someone to be in charge and to tell you when you're doing a bad job. Like…" I scanned the students kneeling on the ground around the poster, "…Craig, for example, is staring into space and dripping paint on the poster."

Craig snapped out of his reverie and noticed this with an uncaring, "Oops."

"I could go on and name off all that's wrong with this picture," I continued, taking a deep breath. "Stan forgot to put another 'l' in 'rally,' Kevin is trying to paint a _Star Wars_ logo in the corner, Token is using the wrong color for the scheme, Rebecca put a gay flower for the dot of the 'i' of 'in,' Butters is sitting around organizing paintbrushes by color, Pip is refilling everyone's buckets and spilling paint everywhere as he does… Need I go on, Jew?"

I was instantly assaulted by protests.

"Well, sorry! I forgot there was two 'l's in 'rally'! It's an easy mistake!"

"If you were as devoted as I was to _Star Wars_, you would too!"

"Man, there's only one color! How can I be using the wrong one?"

"It's not gay; I'm a girl!"

"Well, geez, Eric. I… I thought it would make things easier for everyone if they didn't have to, ah, search for the color they wanted…"

"Oh, goodness! You try doing this, mister! Pouring paint is not as easy as it looks!"

"You find everything wrong with anything that you didn't make," Kyle retorted when everyone had gotten their say in about my comments. "If you were the one making all the mistakes that we make, you would say that you meant to do it!"

"Nuh-uh!" I whined, ready to walk away if there was any sign of me losing the argument. I retook his position above everyone with a critical eye. "Oh, and Clyde's dripping blood on the banner too. Ewww."

Clyde shot a glare at me, pressing his tissue firmly against his nostrils. "Yeah, well, whose fault do you think that is?"

"I said I was sorry! Damn, what do you want from me?"

Clyde rolled his eyes and went back to his painting.

"Hmm… Wendy, babe, I think you should sit this one out. Your art just doesn't seem to flow right with everyone else's." I stopped right behind the black-haired girl, staring her down. I just loved to find things to criticize about her.

She looked from her picture of a cow to me. "What doesn't flow about it?" she inquired with ill-restrained annoyance. "It's our mascot!"

"I dunno… It just doesn't look right to me. Are you sure that's our mascot?"

"_Agh!_" Wendy cried out, clenching her fists and drawing attention from the teacher, who was reclining in his chair with his eyes closed.

"Wendy, let's try to control that, okay? The teacher's trying to relax," Mr. Garrison told her. "If I have to teach you little bastards every day, I need to get some rest."

"But, Mr. Garrison, Cartman… He…" She trailed off when the teacher ignored her, instead closing his eyes once again.

Bestowing upon her a celebratory smirk, I walked off, narrowing my eyes at what I believed to be the failures of my classmates. I shook my head, my eyelids falling briefly as I tried to imagine myself somewhere else. Suddenly, my foot connected with something solid, and my eyes snapped open to stare in shock as I tripped over an open can of bright green paint.

"_AH!_" Clyde leaped up, eyes wide as he beheld the state of his clothing—which was covered with the paint; it was dripping onto the floor and the banner, ruining his hard work. Peals of green liquid clung to his hair for a moment before trailing down his face and underneath his clothing.

"_CARTMAN!_" shouted nearly the entire class. The green stain on the white banner was steadily spreading to the rest of it. And since the only color they were using was green, it wasn't surprising that none of the letters or pictures could be seen anymore.

Clyde suffered the most though. He fought back the urge to cry and smacked my shoulder in anger. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Good one, children," Mr. Garrison interjected sarcastically in frustration. "If you don't do this banner, then I have to! Start over, and make sure you finish within the next ten minutes!" He turned his attention to the paint-dowsed Clyde. "You can go to the office to call your parents if you want. Class is almost over anyways. I'll write you a pass."

After a sniffling Clyde had left the class, leaving a trail of paint in his wake, every set of eyes was on me. I was still sprawled out on the floor where I had landed. Thankfully for me, my good looks hadn't been tarnished at all by a single drop of paint.

"Eric, I think you should apologize," Mr. Garrison suggested.

I, in turn, raised my eyes to the ceiling and spoke to it, "I'm sorry," without sounding at all apologetic. "But look on the bright side, guys: you can start over and fix all your mistakes! I think this is a learning experience for you all. It's like… I was supposed to kick the paint over, you know?" I urged, completely serious, my mouth open at this revelation.

"I hate you so much," Kyle told me. Didn't I know it?


	4. Candy

**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _What Would People Say?_

**Complete Story Summary:** Instances where there is a chance to do more but the overwhelming sense of social standards gets in the way. Everyone is just waiting for Cartman to do the right thing because when you've sunken so low, you can only rise back up.

**Story Pairings: **Eric Cartman/Clyde Donovan.

**Story Rating: **T

**Chapter Content: **Coarse language.

* * *

4. Candy

Clyde was still pretty pissed at me (even though everything that had happened to him so far was due to powers out of my control), so I decided, being the cool guy I am, that I would give him a peace offering of some sort. A few butterscotch candies—it's all I have—should appease him, right?

I strolled into school that morning pretty confident that I would regain Clyde's trust and all that other gay stuff. I might be a little cruel now and then, but I want to show them all that I can be an O.K. guy when I want to be. That's what this is all about, to tell you the truth. I couldn't care less about Clyde by himself. What has that asshole ever done for me?

I sauntered over to where Craig and his group hung out before class, butterscotch candies rattling happily in my sweater pocket. I had to dodge a few students who dared to run in front of me, and I cursed at my jostling. Nearly losing my footing a couple times, I rolled my eyes and continued towards a familiar boy in a blue hat and sweater.

The group quieted their boisterous laughter at the sight of me coming towards them, their expressions suddenly somber.

"What is it, Cartman?" Craig interjected before I could speak. He edged his way towards Mr. Garrison's class in what I was sure was supposed to be a subtle manner. "Come to break someone else's nose? Or maybe you have some paint you'd like to splash on us?"

"No, actually, I wanted to talk to Clyde while all of you are watching." I upped my voice decibels significantly so that my voice carried through the idle conversations all around us and gained the attention of the students who happened to be lingering nearby. As I had hoped, everyone was silent and waiting to see what I would do next because it was _such_ a big show for all of them.

"What?" Clyde asked from somewhere in the back of the group, his nasally voice alerting me to his presence. He peeked around Token at me; it almost seemed as if he didn't want to get very close. I noticed he was wearing a different sweater today—green _definitely_ did not look right on him.

"I have come to offer you something to…" I glanced around, almost nervous to say the word, "…_apologize_."

"Really?" Clyde blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting me to do anything nice. I showed him differently, that asshole.

I schooled my features into a mask of indifference, fishing around in my pockets for my little gifts. Annoyed when my search proved to be unsuccessful, I tried again. And again. I eventually turned my pockets inside-out, expecting to see them drop to the floor.

"Well?" He tapped his foot in impatience, eying me. "I'm waiting."

"Hold on a second!" I was sure I had put them in my pocket. Maybe they were in my backpack? Or… are they in my pants pockets? I checked them and then slid my backpack off to dig fruitlessly through trash and books that were crowding it. Unfortunately, I didn't find anything remotely resembling delicious butterscotch candies.

I felt a stab of frustration. Whenever I try to do something like this, it always backfires. Where the hell were those candies? I spun around and scanned the ground; perhaps they had fallen out when those damn kids had run past me. Suddenly, and with a cry of delight, I spotted them innocently lying on the ground in front of a row of lockers.

I told Clyde to wait a moment while I went to fetch them, but I was filled with dread when I heard a familiar hick accent exclaim excitedly, "Boy howdy! Butterscotch candies! This must be my lucky day!" when Butters stumbled upon the treats; he was not aware of my big moment because he had decided to show up later than everyone else today.

I can honestly say that it's his fault that I didn't get to enact my "peace treaty" with Clyde today.

I screeched, "_BUTTERS!_" from across the hallway when he had devoured them like a rabid squirrel. He jumped at the ferocity of my voice and turned his head to stare at me.

"H-huh? What'd I do, Eric?" he inquired nervously, mashing his fists together in that little habit he has whenever pressure is put on him.

"Goddamn it, Butters. Goddamn it." That's all I could say, and I was glad to see him look so helplessly confused and looking around for answers that he wouldn't get from the other silent students.

"As you can see, Clyde," I pivoted on my heel to address the brown-haired boy, gesturing to the dumbfounded Butters, "he has eaten my offerings to you, so I can honestly say I tried. How about we forget the whole thing?"

Clyde slid his gaze from me to Butters, then back again. His face twisted into a frown, and his eyebrows scrunched up in thought. "You were going to give me butterscotch candy… for giving me a nosebleed and spilling paint all over my clothes?"

Hey, why not? He seemed to like them back when he needed convincing as to what school mascot he should vote for. I nodded enthusiastically, expectant for a positive response.

"Butterscotch candy…" he repeated slowly, as if I were the dumb one.

"Yes, Clyde!" I grew impatient quickly. I had places to go, people to see. Didn't he understand?

He shook his head, sighing heavily. "I really don't get you sometimes. You think the smallest things will cancel out something big, and you act as if everything isn't your fault. Maybe you should rethink how you're supposed to be in situations like this. Your way of thinking is so messed up; I feel sorry for you." His shoulders slumped exhaustively. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he decided not to and merely gave me a sidelong look before his group made their way towards Mr. Garrison's classroom.

I arched an eyebrow, looking to the people watching for clarification. "…Dude, who doesn't want butterscotch candy? It's freakin' delicious!"

I was given looks of pity and disbelief, and mumbling broke out all around me. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny joined me shortly after the crowds began dispersing, heading towards their respective rooms.

"That wasn't cool, Cartman," Kyle said to me with a glare. "You'll never learn, will you? You're lucky Clyde wasn't around to hear your comment after his little speech. He probably would have kicked your fat ass all over this hallway."

I chortled at the thought of that ever happening. "Clyde? No way! He's a pussy!"

Stan shrugged, glancing at a clock that hung on the wall. "Dudes, we have to get to class or Mr. Garrison will give us detention. C'mon."

We all entered the classroom moments before the bell rang, and I noticed that everyone had switched seats again. Clyde was conveniently surrounded by people. Though, I didn't care; why would I want to sit by him anyways?

I squeezed into a seat in the front next to Stan and stared out the window with a contemplative look on my face. Clyde's words from before echoed in my mind. Even if I didn't show it outwardly to the public, I didn't just dismiss things like that. It was for my reputation. And that reputation said that attempting to earn Clyde's forgiveness was a complete waste of time.

I'd probably have to do this in private. I couldn't stand the thought of what people might say if I actually went through with a nice gesture. Would they call me gay? Would they say that I've softened up—become a pussy like Butters?

I exhaled in a drawn-out way, cushioning my face with my hands, my lids falling half closed. I felt like crap, especially since I could feel everyone's hateful eyes burning into my back, pushing me further down the hole I've dug myself into—and have been trying to climb out of.

I was _trying_, damn it.


End file.
